Out of the Fog

Two agéd workers productively deal with routine life, having purchased themselves a boat to fish the Atlantic after work in the evenings.

I wonder if people still do this in cities if there are still ample public docks to use, to which peeps can tie up a boat which they can then launch after work at their leisure.

Hostility abounds, however, and soon a local racketeer requires payment, to prevent him from causing a scene which may indeed lead to less recreation.

It's outrageous, Jonah (Thomas Mitchell) and Olaf (John Qualen) don't make much money and their neighbours are chill, imagine leaving a boat tied up in a major city and trusting that no one will suddenly take it.

Must have been a more enlightened age within which goodwill played an important role, and blind distrust didn't ruin collectives who had ensured integrity for many a decade.

The racketeer (John Garfield) then has the nerve to start dating Jonah's daughter (Ida Lupino as Stella Goodwin), her old love interest none too impressed (Eddie Albert as George Watkins), she's hooked on the thrilling criminality.

Olaf and Jonah need a plan that may contradict their traditional habits. 

They may not be high flyin' men.

But can still respond if push comes to shove. 

Out of the Fog is a remarkable film inasmuch as it sincerely concerns itself with laidback seniority, and isn't obsessed with wealth or power and is instead rather critical of ill-gotten gains.

Imagine two heroes with no managerial insights cinematically lauded with genuine pride.

When do people living a modest life ever take centre stage nowadays, as they fight to maintain their lil slice from flagrant goons hellbent on violence?

There was a time when millions of these people got together and unified to challenge corruption, constructively working towards common goals like a 9 to 5 shift and weekends for family.

When the world changed in the '90s it seemed clear to me what peeps should do, the higher-ups and the leaders anyways should act compassionately to avoid a resurgence.

But they didn't of course no one learns instead they looked to the 19th century (we'll get away with it this time), and how well plutocrats and oligarchs had it before common people collectively organized. 

Thus, the cycle's repeating itself although there are millions of peeps trying to stop it.

Joe Biden is trying to stop it.

There's no doubt that he's a good man. 

Hobson's Choice

A prosperous shopkeep enjoys the comforts of gregarious bourgeois living, his agile workforce securing fresh profits, his lovely daughters managing his home (Charles Laughton as Mr. Hobson).

He gorges himself on plenty with ample criticisms and bumptious dismissals, boasting wildly down at Moonrakers, where he drinks too much on occasion. 

His lordly litanies cumbrously forget the lively existence of others, however, notably his eldest daughter Maggie (Brenda de Banzie) whom he assumes is bound for spinsterhood. 

She's been taking care of the business and is none too fond of the assumption, nor the incumbent caretaking it presumes, nor her lack of daily wages.

She's also aware that one of their employees is a brilliant natural bootmaker, who lacks worldly pretentious ambition, and could use a patron to his advance his skill (John Mills as William Mossop).

So she makes the bold decision to demand he quit and accompany her elsewhere, to open up a new bootshop in fact, and to take her hand in marriage. 

Soon they've lured much of her father's discerning clients to their innovative new brand, and even serendipitously composed an even more vivacious plan.

Take each film on its own nimble merits without drawing conclusions about family or gender, for in so many men have disavowed gallantry, while in many others women have done the same.

It's not my place to generally conclude which sex embraces banality more often, but rather to analyze proposed fictional and truthful evidence to ascertain who has spoiled particular instances.

It's not the safest way to proceed insofar as you wind up critiquing both sides, the level-headed amongst them appreciating the honesty, both sexes at times proceeding in error.

I think the secret is to revel in the difference the opposite gender provides, assuming they aren't physically or psychologically violent, as that gender manifests so many alternative aspects, over the course of a productive lifetime.

I suspect men who love women and women who love men find it much easier to productively live together.

Creating boundaries and mischievous rules for playfully crossing/breaking through rapt contradiction. 

Hobson knows only one boundary that which asserts authoritarian prominence, his subjects none too pleased with his grandiose postures, and willing to daringly challenge and disrupt them.

If you wish to proceed like Hobson, David Lean's Hobson's Choice may be perilous, for it champions multilateral fair play, within which multiple stakeholders prosper.

But if you seek to enjoy a well-crafted film wherein which democratic impulse constructively asserts itself, you may be rather impressed by this Hobson's Choice, which captures the spirit of resilient open-mindedness. 

Madeleine

A flexible titled dreamer finds a new home in Scotland (Ivan Desny as Emile L'Angelier), equipped with the devoted awestruck l'amour of a reputable fervent lass (Ann Todd as Madeleine Smith). 

She's from a stilted family which discourages intrigue however, her love flourishing incognito, concealed in furtive full-on trust.

Her father (Leslie Banks) hopes she'll accept the courting of a well-to-do local lad (Norman Wooland as Minnoch), who's settled within high society and conjugally keen.

He rules their lavish abode with patriarchal austerity, abiding by strict codes of conduct the subversion of which may lead to ruin.

Or the sanitarium or some such place she has absolutely no desire go, the resultant pestiferous pressure overwhelming her romantic longing.

You would hope there would be more opportunity, other options besides a propitious marriage, but these were different times indeed with fewer outlets for spry prosperity.

Her nerve implodes forlorn and lost she breaks off her clandestine betrothal. 

Her lover notably distraught.

And in possession of secret letters.

David Lean's Madeleine interrogates scandal as a matter of propriety, etched deep with the upper echelons indelicately diagnosing disquiet.

Odd to consider that one so well off would be so strictly bound, not with the desire to promote debauchery, but rather without independent means at her disposal.

It's a shame that tabloid fascination reconstitutes festive fetters, the skeptical gaze of the cynical eye necessitating stealth and cumbersome zeal. 

Madeleine does have deceptive means to be elaborately employed, yet her exceptional liberating scheming fails to pass without further comment.

What risk to take the one which leads to less disputatious uproar, or perhaps to nothing at all, perhaps void of thrill or consequence?

Certainly not a romantic take on lauded cherished flush true love, nevertheless unique in its remonstrations in its unorthodox blinding outrage.

Understanding is of critical import from disconsolate passionate perspectives, commiserating comprehensions deconstructed invariability. 

The inviolable traditionalist may regard Madeleine with horror, as endearing sought after outcomes languish in bitter virulence.

But the novelty remains somewhat comic from alternative dispositions.

By no means grand or exemplary. 

But still encouraging greater freedom.  

It Happened One Night

Surrounded by luxury, everything you desire at hand or accessible, no need to work, struggle, justify, elucidate, toot toot, the gravy train, chugs onwards ever after.

Yet within the boundless infinities of grand ostentatious profound torqued hebetude, the imposition of paradigmatic pressure still traditionally refrains, and blasé prim prognostic propriety banally beckons with callous call, as gender roles crafted by ancient custom reemerge to contend and classify.

Ellie (Claudette Colbert) breaks free casts off the bonds of disquieting matrimony, swimming away from her father's yacht to life on the random exuberant road.

Meanwhile, a freespirited journalist castigates his editor's hackneyed rebuke, standing up for the integrity of free-verse, sweetly flowing unfiltered, unpasteurized (they're old friends) (Clark Gable as Peter Warne).

They wind up on the same lively bus heading south through carnivalesque cascades, an understanding reluctantly reached as lacklustre finances briskly balk.

Her father's enlisted the press and manifold detectives to track her down, fellow travellers on their communal steed eventually figuring their story out.

Escape is necessary to actively deconstruct the limits of their sly emancipation, so they vigorously font du puce and have soon procured their own automobile.

Lost indeterminate flux wildly drives their spontaneous momentum.

It's possible they'll never return.

Unless they fall in love.

It's solid rebellious romance firmly frenetic in loquacious languor, earnestly exercised enigmatic ursine, otherwise known, as begrudged true love.

He's not after wealth or prestige and like Lone Starr, he doesn't take the million, yet a kindred and quaint yet quizzical clutch still clasps in clamorous cuddle.  

Even though I love It's A Wonderful Life and watch it every Holiday Season, it never occurred to me to watch something else by the oft lauded sincere Frank Capra. 

And the genuine concern for chillaxed common dignity found in his yuletide yarn, is intriguingly present in rambunctious rapture disgruntled dispute heartfelt happenstance.

Several scenes don't end quite so quickly, they're much longer than one might expect, the cultivation of clandestine character acclimatized patient demonstrative depth.

It must have been a wondrous time when people still believed in dignity beyond wealth or station, when there was perhaps cultural support for public education and widespread constructive activism.

Otherwise, how do you explain the nimble bus scene where its passengers burst forth in song, unconcerned for rank or nobility, simply laidback, relaxing, resting?

And its focus on spirited improbability rooted in frank materialism?

Where things suddenly work out.

As they often do.

Deepwater Horizon

You'd think that if you were about to engage in dangerous intricate underwater oil extraction, you would want to make sure your equipment was running smoothly before enabling workplace operations.

You would just have to run some tests to ensure technological sustainability, to reasonably assess your endeavour's viability in terms of probable dependable reliance.

You've invested hundreds of millions, the project will make billions, it's just a matter of time before the cash starts rolling in.

Why wouldn't you take steps to maximize workplace health & safety simply by testing your multi-million dollar equipment?

It's not just the integrity of your mechanical infrastructure that's at stake, but, much more importantly, the lives of your vital workforce would be imperilled if something went wrong.

Then you lose versatile hands-on resolute practical know-how, knowledge possessed by resilient workers who have actually worked in the productive field.

Life is more important than fluctuating budgets or financial forecasts, more integral than the projected bottom line.

I've never worked in an environment where people didn't take their jobs seriously.

But if you work somewhere where you feel your health is at risk, perhaps it's time to consider forming a union.

In Deepwater Horizon, a worst case scenario chaotically and volcanically presents itself, as managers overly concerned with budgetary delays neglect workplace health & safety.

Other managers contradict them and attempt to proceed according to safety guidelines, but they're unfortunately overruled and extreme disaster strikes.

A true story, it really happened, and many integral lives were lost, their names chronicled at the end of the film, so they'll never be forgotten.

Not to mention the environmental chaos that consequently ensued (and is likely still polluting delicate ecosystems to this day).

Catastrophic coastal confines.

What happened to all that oil?

It's obviously not simply offshore oil rigs that need to manage resilient efficiencies, if you casually apply economic relativity manifold applications effortlessly emerge.

If the company in Deepwater Horizon (BP) had tested their equipment, they would have hopefully found the problem, and many lives would have been saved and their rig wouldn't have been destroyed.

The profits may have started rolling in at a frustrating much later date.

But they would have kept rolling in after that.

And their workforce would have been safe.

The Heiress

An innocent artist, unconcerned with the world at large, is encouraged to take an active role, in environs she's ill-equipped to comprehend, but still willing to cautiously explore (Olivia de Havilland as Ms. Sloper).

Her mother was a dazzling sight, in possession of coveted social perspicuity, akin to Oriane de Guermantes, in terms of wit and incisive observation.

Her husband genuinely admired her, and was crushed by her untimely passing, resigned in the following years to focus intently on the practice of medicine.

Unfortunately, he's quite the snob, and even applies his pretensions to his family, so weighed down by the maintenance of ideals, that he dismisses everything that doesn't add up (Ralph Richardson as Dr. Austin Sloper).

His daughter's fascinated by embroidery and has developed enviable skill, and wants to make her father happy, but lacks multilateral bearing.

Nevertheless, she sets out one evening to attend a social gathering, wherein she's courted by a brazen upstart, who's familiar with what she stands to inherit, his candour as fluent as his resolve (Montgomery Clift as Morris Townsend).

Shortly thereafter he's asked her to marry and she's gleefully and passionately accepted, in the belief that she'll make her father happy, and perhaps find some joy of her own. 

But her father is rather suspicious of her fiancé's amorous feeling, and poses unsettling questions to ascertain its authenticity. 

The result is the tragic transformation of well-preserved sequestered peculiarity, which attempts to suddenly adjust to age old rapacious cunning.

She comprehends with the resplendent grace casually borne by the unsuspecting, and perhaps would have been content if she had met an honest person.

Neither heartfelt nor harlequin, The Heiress proceeds to interrogate innocence, its manifestation of purest true love, tragically destined to swoon unrequited.

The results much more traditional than the romantic setting suggests.

Traditional in the withdrawn sense. 

Calculated hesitant gravity.

Project Power

The Marvel instinct is pejoratively packaged and illicitly cast for chaotic distribution, those taking the metamorphic drug unleashing wanton blind destruction.

It enables superpowers derived from beastly DNA, an individual's latent spirit animal emerging in death defying rampage. 

A policeperson (Joseph Gordon-Levitt as Frank) keeps close contact with a dealer with the hopes of busting the network, but bribes and high level corruption make his duties grim untenable.

An ex-soldier (Jamie Foxx as Art) seeks the dealers who have kidnapped his only daughter, her unique multivariable metabolism having been used to create the drug.

They find themselves forging a team dedicated to preventing its sale.

Without that much to go on. 

Trepidatious flounce and flail.

Project Power takes übermanche obsessions and distills them within a pill, the resulting crazed despotic X-Men committing brazen crimes at will.

It's not the deepest film but it makes the most of its barebones script, not many characters or deceptive scenarios but what persists isn't strained or dull.

A byproduct of preponderant superheroics is the desire to court invincibility, and people taking illegal drugs may express themselves accordingly

The difficulties the police have engaging the users are pronounced but the side-effects are largely ignored, there's no trip to the hospital like that in The Third Man, or a descent into madness like that found in Trainspotting. 

Scholastic endeavour is directly criticized, the film seems to be saying there's no point. The film indeed criticizes the teacher more severely for seeking student engagement than the specific student for selling drugs.

School's a remarkable tool that can help you genuinely engage your mind.

Sometimes you have to make it more interesting (I believe Eminem's expression is, own it) rather than just critiquing education in general.

I've found the scholastic world's much more open, less rigid than worldly practice.

If it doesn't help you make millions, it can still help you develop your mind.

Unlock scholastic superpowers, give it a shot, directly apply yourself.

There's no shame in cultivating imagination.

Brilliant raps in Project Power. 

Lone Wolf McQuade

Old school cinematic invincibility, the versatile hero clad in grizzled impeccability (Chuck Norris as Lone Wolf McQuade).

Working alone, doing what it takes to excel, concerned with honourable courageous forthright excellence, with an instinct for justice, and devout paramount jurisprudence.

He tried to be a family man but his lifestyle was too chaotic, and even though he now lives alone, he's still on good terms with his ex-wife (Sharon Farrell as Molly) and daughter (Dana Kimmell as Sally McQuade).

His style has earned criticisms from an irate distressed senator, who's trying to reign in Texas, to create a less independent image.

He's therefore tasked with a partner (Robert Beltran as Kayo), who will perhaps encourage more relatable ways, but he sees the intrusion as an unjust sanction, and does his best to emphatically resist.

As ne'er-do-wells secretly highjack shipments of government weapons, running the guns across the border, to be sold to the highest bidder.

McQuade's daughter and her fiancée (Robert Jordan as Bobby Drew) park near their machinations one evening, too close for villainous comfort, they're swiftly incapacitated.

But Sally survives and McQuade begins investigating.

Kayo making himself useful.

The FBI clearly disappointed.

It's a pioneering '80s action film that celebrates raw honest integrity, it's not that he's trying to bring it on, that's just how he gets the job done.

It may seem improbable at times, as he presents himself as an open target, for instance, and his adversaries miss with machine gun fire, but that was the type of unheralded hero, presented as a fearless over-the-top force of nature.

His house hasn't been cleaned in years and he doesn't consume much besides beer, but he isn't dismissive of significant others, as they introduce forbidden playful contradictions.

Eventually everyone involved realize they need to rely on his intuition, and even though he hasn't done much to convince them, they come round to his steadfast point of view.

Martial arts forge a tantalizing unconscious as audiences await manifested skills, one David Carradine (Rawley Wilkes) enlisted as nemesis, tension slowly building resolutely throughout.

Things are very direct and blunt, as if there's something crucial to say, as if James Bond were in fact from Texas, and was much more humble and modest and loving.

Some action films are more realistic and sometimes make more sense as a result, but that doesn't mean one should dismiss this style of storytelling, with its stoic hands-on caricatures.

I'm not sure how seriously you're supposed to take it, perhaps I'm not taking it seriously enough, but if you're looking for something cool that's a bit less polished, Lone Wolf McQuade provides an impacting punch.

Brilliant performance from Robert Beltran.

Carradine and Norris were the genuine article.

The Entertainer

Archie Rice (Laurence Olivier), a struggling performer, the thrill of the stage, pressing forward ever onwards, hypothetical airtight integration, elastic dynamism salacious foothold.

Perpetual indulgence subjective omniscience fragile attachments paternal reprimands, constant motion deconstructing the breeze, leaving behind scattered remnants of ripe potential (he always knows what to say, or at least always says something).

Pressures paramount tactile gravity hands-on harkened hexed hashed haberdashery, innate insouciance magnetic pulse wayward rhythm irresistibility (people love him).

The hand that's dealt enriching bluff prevarication, smooth operation bewildering necessity (he's creative).

Extolled acquiescence resigned caricature agile concise persevering flexibility, dismissive of resonant embanked calculus, he'd be lost if he wasn't adrift (he's broke).

His inspired reactions lack sympathy for his loved ones, who've grown weary but haven't withdrawn.

Not one to dwell on the past or much besides the immediate moment, he tries to find revenue to launch his new show.

The moment dictates how he'll act and he can no longer write his own cheques.

But he'll do anything to secure independence, no matter what it might dutifully cost him.

Not that he isn't in fact independent, I'd argue he's never known fetter or chain, not that there aren't obligations he negotiates, he just always does so with purest freewill (not me).

In every conversation there's an anecdote or comparison, a reminiscence, a synthesis, a parallel, some truths requiring absurd empathy, as he pulls everyone into his sphere.

He's the kind of person who makes for great conservation and if things aren't too serious a reliable friend, especially if you happen to be in a pub, or heaping praise on his struggling show.

He's aware of responsibility and wants to be responsible but his fluctuating lifestyle makes it quite difficult, he has to create both audience and opportunity and build on whatever momentum's available.

If it's lavish, well then, he's responsible, and if not, fugaciously so.

Things haven't been lavish for some time and people have become rather critical.

But he's far too carefree for critiques, and does his best to verbosely withstand.

The Entertainer presents a showperson who's also a husband, father, and son, who isn't so far gone he's insufferable, but is still by no means sure and steady.

The attention to detail's incredible and it aptly entwines cerebral senses, less luscious conceptions of performance critiquing rowdier, gaudier ways.

Plenty of character, comedy, tragedy, inherent intrigue residual calm, a fascinating script by one John Osborne, that doesn't spare romance or conflict.

Laurence Olivier is once again outstanding (there's so much Olivier in this film) and presents another character who must be seen.

He was quite active for someone so talented (from a contemporary perspective) and played wonderfully unorthodox roles.

No wonder his fans never forgot him.

*This review is about Archie Rice in The Entertainer, who's struggling to keep performing on stage. His character's somewhat sympathetic if not conceited and there's no doubt he's a feisty cynosure. I don't know how the world moves forward from the President of the United States suggesting people inject disinfectants. It's beyond irresponsibility. It's a whole new level of recklessness all its own. Please don't inject disinfectants. Injecting disinfectants will probably kill you.

A Vida Invisível (Invisible Life)

Tumultuous times await a romantic spirit after she's left behind with child and her family brusquely disowns her.

Or refuses to allow her to come home after she returns from her amorous adventure, alone with nowhere to go, having fallen prey to dishonest advances.

Made when she was ready to sacrifice everything.

Her sister's left unawares, has no idea what's transpired, and marries as the months and years pass, settling into domestic life.

But she never gives up her dream of playing the piano in Vienna, nor stops thinking about her missing sister, who communicates regularly in writing, her messages intercepted by a disapproving husband.

The oft irreconcilable relationship between emotion and principle forges an ethical current within, the husbands obsessed with how things appear, the wives sympathetic to concrete reality.

I can't understand how a parent could care more about a principle or social standing than the happiness of their child, or how they could disown him or her absolutely for doing something they may have once considered.

Themselves.

Some things lack prestige or appeal until you've reached a certain age, and it's difficult to imagine that one mistake made in the grips of youthful passion could ever prevent them from luminously radiating, for if principle isn't able to take what once seemed irrefutably endearing into aged spiritual account, are the thoughts and feelings of younger generations to perennially persist in ill-defined obscurity?

How could you know that your grandchild is being raised in a neighbourhood close by and that you've given his or her parents no assistance whatsoever to ease their emotional and financial distress?

How could you suddenly dismiss all the wonderful times cherished with your children as they grew, because they didn't follow a rigid rule to its stifling incapacitating letter?

Is it possible to love rules and regulations more than flourishing life?, to abide by stern codes and customs when surrounded by contemporary endeavour?

There's no doubt youth seeks to uphold what they've been taught to behold as rational, but to make sense of rational traditions when you're young overlooks the exuberance of life.

A Vida Invisível (Invisible Life) demonstrates how a young adult cast aside by her family digs in deep and vigorously strives.

And how that family suffers in her absence, how it would have prospered with her vital strength.

A sorrowful tale crafting knowledge woebegone, which contrasts domesticity with independence to challenge stubborn points of view, it exhales tragedy with forlorn breaths while encouraging compassion and understanding, as siblings long for the abandoned innocence that once so thoughtfully bloomed.

Is it not more shameful to abandon your child?

To leave them alone to dismally struggle?

I'm not encouraging reckless behaviour.

But mistakes require sympathy, not severe punishments.

Freaks

Spoiler alert.

Freaks presents a bleak sociopolitical scenario wherein which mutants are routinely hunted down and taken without reason or hesitation.

Its similarities to the The X-Men resonate with complimentary vibes, but even if the two visions are similar, it should be noted that The X-Men don't have a monopoly on this kind of narrative, as long as its characters aren't flatly duplicated.

Where's the hybridization otherwise?

The main difference between Freaks and The X-Men and Women is that The X-Men storyline is well-known, while Freaks keeps you guessing if you didn't read anything about it beforehand, besides that it's science-fiction and made in Canada, and somewhat provocatively titled.

It's like Magneto's worst nightmare.

The majority has designated anyone who doesn't fit a rather bland personality stereotype as a freak, and if différence is detected, it's wiped out with extreme prejudice.

The mutants are scattered and disorganized, forced to contend with the majority on a terrifying individual basis.

A father (Emile Hirsch as Dad), who doesn't understand the majority's conventions well, tries to teach them to his gifted daughter (Lexy Kolker as Chloe), who's unaware of their predicament, and uncertain as to how to proceed.

He's chosen to hide but can't make his daughter understand why, and as she ages she becomes more curious about the forbidden world outside.

A heavily armed reporter thinks she sympathizes, but the climate's so extreme any attempts to communicate are layered with panicky violent unacknowledged distrust, like the society you find in The Lobster, or what I imagine an atheist confronts if they live in a strict theocracy.

Freaks lacks alternative depth inasmuch as the mutants have no rights or recourse, but it does function as an effective critique of extreme governments, and the violence and prejudices they habitually nurture.

On the right extreme, the best and brightest and their goons use violence to force the majority to yield; on the left the moral majority banishes independent thought to languish in remote obscurity.

This is an oversimplified version of the polemic that doesn't do its myriad nuances justice, but works in relation to the context of the film.

In a well-rounded society the groups respectfully co-exist, the respect a cab driver has for a physicist for instance, due to the physicist's brilliant expertise, and the corresponding respect that same physicist has for the cab driver, extracted from the knowledge that they work extremely long hours, provide a helpful service, don't make much money, and have a remarkable knowledge of the city or town they work in.

It's only when the physicist derides the cab driver in anger for not possessing a similar degree of expertise, or the cab driver lashes out at the physicist for possessing lucrative knowledge, that a rather chill orderly structure breaks down, social relations then becoming more disagreeable.

Ask yourself which political parties support such a public sphere? and you may find yourself voting for good times this October.

For a culture that isn't super uptight all the time.

For a country that genuinely supports différence.

I can't stress how important it is to vote in the upcoming federal election. Voting is one of our most important freedoms as Canadian and Québecois citizens. It doesn't take that long and you can even take time off work to do it. Voting helps you be the change, it's one concrete way that you can in fact make a real difference.

This difference is magnified in a proportionally representative system.

Proportional Representation isn't radical change.

It's simply good governance.

Based solely on the numbers.

Bruce Dern (Mr. Snowcone) shines.

He has some great lines too.

Tonari no Totoro (My Neighbour Totoro)

A family moves far away to raise young in idyllic surroundings, the peaceful breeze a windswept melody, the silent nights a tranquil balm, even if living in the city can be equally mesmerizing, its rhythmic variations wondrous catalysts, its gritty flux dynamic grains, a different kind of symphonic swing, still in tune with seasonal contrarieties, the countryside presents more immediate environmental difference, the rays of the sun like molten fusion, a livid storm compressed surprise, it's good for restful relaxation, for decompressing from time to time, but can lack what you weren't expecting, if you don't dig deep, experiment, sleuth.

Look for animals.

Learn about different birds.

Make your own diverse mechanics, soaking up whims and signs, like the kids in My Neighbour Totoro, as they nimbly acclimatize.

Prudent planning was exercised in their locale, and patches of forest were left amongst the fields, the rice fields abounding but not all-encompassing, the children still finding lots of room to play.

Wherein which they discover a magical realm, bold immersed unrestrained imagination, a godlike creature with remarkable powers, exhaling induced exclamation.

Like an idea he can slip the mind, but concentration helps Totoro shine through, to perhaps summon the omniscient cat bus, or play music at the end of the day.

The film doesn't retail shock or ceremony.

It's as unobtrusive as it is inquisitive.

The exact opposite of a horror film in fact, you aren't filled with dread or anxiety afterwards.

It's like productive chill curious growth invigorated, as if you've just seen a badger or had dinner at a local restaurant, as if it's distilled that feeling you get when you're free of responsibility and have time to explore, blend, hypothesize, adventure, recall all those things you misplaced in the bustle, like a band you used to really like, or a view you haven't seen for awhile.

Everything's there in the city too, just have to keep your eyes open, like the girl I saw discover a caterpillar at Sainte-Catherine and Peel one day, or signs that look like animals. A wayward soccer ball in the park. Eating sushi as you walk down the street. A bottle dropped with conversational intent.

I missed the conversational intent of the bottle drop because I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts, and didn't realize I was supposed to pick it up, and that the person who had dropped it wanted to talk to me.

I believe the expression is, my bad.

Totoro's like all those things you never expected to see all decked out and rolled into one.

The divine chillaxed im/material.

Always present.

Never forgotten.

Stuber

The friend secretly absorbed with each and every amiable interaction, from the request for a ride to the desire for advice, overwhelmed with romantic longing, as futile as it is interminable.

The work obsessed dad blindly caught up in locked down affairs, his commitments demanding fidel ubiquity, a daughter used to absent-minded gruff brooding.

The blunt co-worker, in possession of more authority, who brands nicknames and thinks you love them, and revels in economic gloom.

Corruption on the force creating volatile deadly conflicts, needs for versatile flexibility, chaotic discredited isolation.

Vic Manning (Dave Bautista) still needs a ride.

And Stu (Kumail Nanjiani) is there to pejoratively provide one.

He's even recruited to take part in the action, and rapidly learns to take disturbed risks.

His protests register even if they're ignored, as leads are followed and clues deciphered.

Parenting and personal relationships introduce romantic distractions, as they briskly Uber around town, from one total disaster to the next.

In search of a monstrous killer.

Who's escaped Manning's clutches before.

Stuber crosses mild-mannered and hardboiled streams to track down supernatural malevolence, generously disputing in begrudged mismatch, reluctantly computing with forlorn self-sacrifice.

It's a bit far-fetched.

Stu has never fired a gun before and Vic can hardly see yet they outperform the competition with soul searching relative ease, the showdowns not as slapstick as they could have been, disbelief acutely shuddering in echo.

In order to suspend disbelief, situations should be genuinely ridiculous, and when they blend in too much realism, they disrespect fantasy and simply seem improbable.

Not cool improbable, improbable improbable.

Cool improbable like when Stu's ride blows up in the end.

Could have ran with that throughout.

Batista and Nanjiani work well together though, and it's fun to watch as they mindfully meld.

Stuber is another film where the nice guy learns to be manly by being forced to engage in violent combat, however, but the man's man also learns to be more of a nice guy by having to rely upon gentle grief within.

Which almost gets them killed at times, but works out well when they aren't battling, Manning eventually coming to terms with his past, then strengthening his relationship with his passionate daughter.

A bit too ra ra but slightly saved by an unlikely duo, Stuber's full of head shaking novelty, that wildly plays with contemporary phenomena.

Some laughs but of the "wow that must have hurt" variety, Stuber could make a cool Ride Along crossover, especially if they leave rationed reason far behind.

Dogman

A kind man.

An awkward man.

A shy man.

A loving man.

He loves animals and his daughter and works hard to impress them, grooming dogs throughout the day to earn money for rest and leisure.

He's done well for himself considering his coastal town's depressed jade, and has friends, clients, healthy relations, and respectability.

He gets by and isn't concerned with that much, but at least still keeps track of the score.

But there's a problem.

A huge problem.

A drug abusing violent bull who cheats and robs the whole neighbourhood takes advantage of his kindness (Edoardo Pesce as Simoncino), and due to his habitual timidity, he has trouble refusing his requests.

You can't negotiate with stark abomination.

And have to one day just strictly say "no".

And take the beating, as it inevitably approaches, Matteo Garrone's Dogman presenting one prick of a criminal abyss, jacked up on malevolent testosterone.

And amphetamines.

It's diabolical dispassionate juxtaposition, each favour just a little more ruthless, and even though each demand's grim and shocking, the door's never shut tight with resolve.

Take care of all things. No matter how brutal. Embrace as they bite, provide guidance they'll ignore.

Marcello (Marcello Fonte) likes being with people. It doesn't really matter who. He wants to fit in, play ball, take part, revel. Enjoy a long lunch. Play soccer in the morning.

But he's too friendly to know when to draw lines.

Seems more like the kind of guy who would read stories to sick kids at the hospital, or plant trees and gardens for his community on weekends.

But if such or similar opportunities exist, he has yet to seek them out or find them.

The film sharply blends innocence and contempt with dismal tragic scorn.

It's painful to watch as Marcello agrees, and is left direly scathed and scrounging.

In a community less saturated with toxic masculinity, he likely would have modestly bloomed, or would have had different options available, that may have encouraged less destructive reckonings.

Dogman makes quite the solemn impact, as lost as it is soul searching.

A world devoid of the feminine.

With good intentions pushed far far away.

The Mustang

Why people have to round up wild horses is something I don't understand?

Aren't they just chillin' in wide open unoccupied plains, doin' their own thing, not worryin' 'bout other people's business?

Does someone own the grass they eat?

Are they trespassing in the middle of nowhere?

Must they all be tamed and forced to work, to quietly perform without as much as a recalcitrant neigh, as they're rewarded for doing tricks they can't possibly comprehend, when they could have simply been roaming the forgotten wilderness, wild and unconcerned, harnessed to unbridled freedom?

I don't disapprove of The Mustang's horse rearing program, inasmuch as it exists after the fact.

It's actually a brilliant stroke of enlightened rehabilitation, that teaches hardened criminals genuine kindness, love, and compassionate understanding.

The remarkable benefits of animal therapy can easily be found online, which leads me to think that if prisoners were given stray cats and dogs to care for, things might lighten up in some tense environments.

Training a frisky rebellious stallion certainly helps The Mustang's Roman (Matthias Schoenaerts) to feel again, for after years of unmanageable self-imposed isolation, he suddenly opens up to his gentle daughter (Gideon Adlon as Martha).

Soon after he enters the program.

He doesn't take to it so well at first though.

He's so tightly wound he can't listen to anyone other than himself, even when people freely share valued helpful information.

But why is he so tightly wound?

Where does his obstinacy come from?

It could have perhaps been generated by an all-too-encompassing psychological focus on the individual, a shocking inability to calmly listen to an other.

Anyone else, it's as if he's adopted a god-like persona that fails to heed any alternative viewpoint that doesn't match his predetermined will.

His predetermined will alone.

He's likely encountered wicked tricks, people who claimed camaraderie but only sought to cheat him.

But that doesn't mean there aren't others out there providing judicious counsel, lively inspiring goodwill, or that everyone you meet is trying to screw you.

Just have to give a little.

Be willing to let others in.

The Mustang slips up at times and probably could have left out a lot of the violence, and Roman certainly convalesces rather quickly, but it still presents a caring heart that truly seeks honest redemption, after having given up on everything it loved, after having succumbed to total silence.

If the horses can't run free why not train them with similar initiatives?

But I don't see why they can't run free.

They aren't hurting anyone.

And they make nature all the more wild.

Indubitably.

Todos lo saben

A wedding brings a family together to exalt in celebration, the festivities overflowing with spirit, inhibitions let loose to praise.

But as guards are let down and passions erupt, covetous malfeasance clandestinely violates.

Soon it is known that kidnapping is afoot, and the identity of the perpetrator remains a bitter mystery.

Old school social relations call motives into question, as despondent candour joylessly obscures lucid trust.

Financial responsibility dismally beckons, a lifetime of hard work hauntingly underlying stoic sacrifice.

The past interrogatively echoes.

As the present crumbles astray.

Emergent futures contend in Todos lo saben indeed, as disturbing essentials anxiously prognosticate.

Hives of activity maddeningly posture before settling down with forlorn resignation.

Its characters are strong, compassionate, resilient, loving.

They don't only care for their immediate family, but seek the prosperity of their workforce as well.

Like a versatile community.

The film excels at presenting passionate logic, the overwhelming emotions that characterize sincere distress rationally generated with sober feeling.

Everything's understood with astute enough composure.

It matures like the vines its reels cultivate, coming of age in the mid-afternoon sun.

Storms may disrupt its smooth delicate maturation, but not without augmenting rough unique compelling flavour.

It examines religion without preaching, infidelities without scorn, science without authentication, loyalty forbidding dependence.

Even though characters seek just outcomes, it doesn't mean it's easy, and even though they have resources they can access, it doesn't mean alternative solutions are shelved.

Suspicions bluntly arise.

Level heads contemplatively acquiesce.

Like culture under seige.

Todos lo saben peacefully reckons.

On the Basis of Sex

The law is so diverse and complex that it's almost like an inorganic cerebral ecosystem of sorts, wherein which manifold species symbiotically seek food, shelter, warmth.

Taken as a whole it's rather labyrinthine, like trying to clarify all the species in an unknown jungle, at first. You study taxonomic reasoning for years and then one day set foot in the jungle, pitch a tent, set up camp, begin recording the flora and fauna as well as their relationships with one another. As the sun slowly fades and night descends you observe different botanical phenomena displaying alternative characteristics until your research can definitively suggest they possess specific behavioural traits, thereby setting precedents of sorts which promote further discovery.

But you can only do so much research in a jungle and most research is somewhat specialized (philosophically undertaken according to specific criteria) and eventually you depart, coming back at another time perhaps to advance your research further.

Meanwhile other scientists investigate the same region to verify or contradict your findings while making several new ones of their own.

Rational observations upheld by the reasonable discourse of the day slowly create a world of precedents delineating a civil code unto themselves.

But the code itself is so vast and delicately nuanced and the amount of time spent studying it so slim that the overarching exhaustive narrative remains tantalizing out of touch, always encouraging further study.

If the lawyers, judges, and legal aids who make up a judicial framework are closely studied you find patterns upon which you can base predictions regarding the outcomes of specific cases and the individuals responsible for making them, judging them, commentating upon them, facilitating them.

You would think they wouldn't be determinate inasmuch as different facts and alternative circumstances make each case unique, and that the outcome of one extortion trial should be different from another, but the patterns do persist with a remarkable lack of variation, which is perhaps an unfortunate byproduct of undisclosed political motives.

But variability persists as well and honest judges and lawyers can be swayed by exceptional arguments crafted by reasonable individuals cutting their way through the maze.

As they are by Ruth Bader Ginsburg (Felicity Jones) in Mimi Leder's On the Basis of Sex.

Unlike the instinctual nature of the jungle, which is instinctive inasmuch as we can't communicate with it, logically, in spite of visceral fluencies, the imaginative nature of the law, the application of abstract thought, no matter how practical it might be, cleverly cultivates alternative paths by introducing new classifications, new precedents, disciplines, many of which have little to do with people wandering around aimlessly thousands of years ago, and scientifically reflect the evolutionary nature of communal intellect.

Like the second or third or fourth or fifth scientist who visits the previously undiscovered jungle and discovers new facts that contradict the findings of his or her predecessors, new law branches emerge which develop their own previously uncategorized traditions themselves equally rich in judicial diversity.

As alternative traditions make their claims based upon different precedents the undeniable sure thing becomes much less invariable.

But the patterns still persist and the political motivations that define them persistently seek to elucidate a manufactured master narrative, regardless of facts presented, in attempts to make the world reflect a theoretical natural conception.

The jungle itself without the ability to analyze itself is natural, and rational attempts to define its nature definitively through the application of self-aware reflection based upon observed conditionals which change according to the narratives established by their observers, different conclusions reached, competing rationalities cohabiting, reflects the nature of thought or imagination, a nature which is in/organic if you will.

On the Basis of Sex operates within an in/organic labyrinth and follows the brilliant Ruth Bader Ginsburg as she begins to shine a light through.

Ignorantly dismissed at first and later on because of her gender, even though she graduated with exceptional grades, she finally gets a chance and rationally makes the most of it.

In feisty Denver.

Precedents and patterns and preconceptions and prejudice confront her all the way, but her loving husband (Armie Hammer) and children (Cailee Spaeny, Callum Shoniker) back her up, and support her with the utmost respect (within teenaged reason).

The film's an engaging accessible account of a remarkable individual's first trek through the wilderness, and the path she cultivated along the way.

Through foresight, pluck, logic, and determination, she helped heal aspects of a system that unfortunately is neither broken nor fixed.

If you think the system's broken, if you give up and stop fighting, then a system that has never been and never will be perfect falls into a blind state of disarray.

Remember people like Ruth Bader Ginsburg and the light they've helped shine throughout their lives if you find yourself thinking everything's hopeless.

Because there are millions if not billions of people out there just like her, who care, and are making a difference.

Fighting for true democracy.

Or at least a fair shake most of the time.

Vice

Why make a movie about Dick Cheney (Christian Bale) of all people?

Why?

Why do I have to write about this film?

Why!

With all the charismatic influential inspiring dynamic leaders out there, why choose to make a film about him, even if, in bizarro plutocrat lingo, those adjectives strangely apply?

The filmmakers admit they have little to go on yet revel in proceeding blindly nonetheless, and although they couldn't find much information about Cheney, they still stuck to that which they found, rather than creating a more balanced narrative, wherein which the speculative film, which they admit to making, takes imaginative precedence over headlined gossip and likelihood.

I'm not saying avoid what's supposed to be true or replace it with alternative fact, I mean that if you're imagining much of what took place anyways, imagine a more compelling film that narratively ties his different motivations together.

See so many Steven Spielberg films.

Vice is more like, "we know he did this, and it's believed he did that, and this is all we really have to go on, so we'll make the rest up but emphasize what we do know, or believe, even if the information we have writes a clunky story."

Not that it's a bad film, it's alright, and it's better than a lot of films that follow an individual's career over the course of a lifetime, but Cheney's just not such a bad guy for so much of it, in fact he's primarily depicted as a respectable family man who played by the rules for most of his career, and then suddenly he's this power mad mendacity prone borderline authoritarian, it's not that the facts aren't commercially presented, it's just that Vice hasn't much of a foreshadow.

If you admit you're making speculative pseudo-non-fiction why play your cards so close to your chest?, The Big Short certainly didn't and it made a more stunning impact.

As it stands, Vice isn't sure if Dick Cheney was a monster or just a fortunate hardworking man of self-made means.

It emphasizes that the second Iraq war was likely caused by him for self-centred reasons, but still goes out of its way to make him seem loving and kind, with prim bipolar whitewash, comedically applied.

It does explain where political obsessions with executive authority come from, and in the last scene Cheney appears like Khan in Star Trek into Darkness, boldly stating that many others would have done the same.

But many others wouldn't have done the same, and the bold speech at the end, which may win an Oscar, encourages stubborn self-obsessed self-aggrandizement regardless of communal consequence, and it's unclear if McKay is being critical of Cheney's ambition or trying to make it seem as wholesome as pumpkin pie.

He certainly makes his character sympathetic.

Spending more time coddling than criticizing him.

If Beale Street Could Talk

A young expectant mother celebrating the dawn of life encounters setbacks as she embraces riled uncertainty.

Her decision isn't an easy one to make and she's initially faced with righteous criticism.

Unfortunately, the father's (Stephan James as Alonzo Hunt) in prison after having been falsely accused of a monstrous crime, the victim having returned to her home country after suffering extreme indecency.

It's a disastrous situation that's rather difficult to discuss with the victim (Emily Rios as Victoria Rogers), although Tish's (KiKi Layne) mom (Regina King as Sharon Rivers) does her best to make contact and work things out.

Alonzo takes a plea.

Tish strives onwards, patiently waiting for his release.

A confident man, a resilient woman, a versatile couple, an engaging family.

Prejudice accosts them within and without.

But through self-sacrificing commitment, they holistically persevere.

Barry Jenkins's If Beale Street Could Talk laments cold realities by presenting resigned innocence forced to hustle, brand, and stray.

It deals in unsettling sociological facts the harsh conditions of which require sincere systemic change.

A different way of thinking.

A young couple's racial or ethnic background shouldn't effect their entire existence, I've met and worked with plenty of male, female, black, white, Jewish, Arab, European, South American, First Nations, East Indian, gay, straight and Asian people, and none of them were thieves or cons or zealots, and everyone worked hard and didn't put up much of a fuss.

If racial or ethnic stereotypes had pervaded these environments it would have been impossible to work efficiently, and otherwise composed diligent routines would have collapsed beneath the weight of ripe malice.

People didn't judge each other based on shortsighted stereotypical notions, but preferred to evaluate the quality and quantity of one's work, equal opportunity abounding for all, but they had to make sure to get the job done.

If you think the situation's hopeless it becomes hopeless pretty quickly.

You can't expect things to happen overnight, you need patience, endurance, tenacity.

Tish and Alonzo have all these things in If Beale Street Could Talk and because of stereotypical perceptions they come close to losing everything, yet they still dig deep and buckle down.

The film bluntly examines what's left unsaid and although it's somewhat overly emotional at times, it is presenting volatile subject matter, and its heart's definitely in the right place.

Cool sculptures too.

A Star is Born

With a voice as multifaceted as Brooklyn or a night out on Duluth, effervescently reverberating with transformative emotional characterization, sweetly orchestrating discursive labyrinths, purpose delineating fluctuating climax, the in/conclusive communally narrativizing, the independent meteorologically summarizing, Lady Gaga (Ally) firmly embraces the silver screen, irrepressibly showcasing her vast talent, chanting out with distinct virtuosity, enlightened like a seaside glade, I've never listened to her before, what an exceptionally mesmerizing performer.

Starring in a film that struggles to match up.

Although it starts out well as an alcoholic superstar (Bradley Cooper) suddenly decides to check out the local nightlife after another successful performance.

To his immense good fortune, he's lucky enough to discover a local talent whose versatility is as profound as it is unknown (Gaga).

The film excels as the two meet and Ally is instantaneously recognized.

But as the praise keeps rolling in, and rolling in, and rolling in, its gritty edge is blandly dulled, and as Jack's addictions correspondingly get the better of him, the result is a depressing descent into cold reckless shadow.

A Star is Born is just too obvious, not in the good we know this is tacky and we're making fun of ourselves kind of way, but in the bad you're supposed to be taking this seriously kind of way.

And it's super long.

Often when I see something this bad I'll go see something else and write about it instead, to avoid hurting feelings, but I don't have time to do that this month, and therefore, must proceed.

But I won't say much more.

Immediacy can be a useful device but when things are this instantaneous everything just falls apart.

Rapidly.

In terms of making a film, not going with the flow when performing live.

Man.

My mind's too full of negativity.

I think the expression is, field day, or you could have a field day with this one.

Some great performances though.

And some funny family moments.

The first 40 minutes are really good.

Bummer.